Voices of Summer: Ranking Baseball's 101 All-Time Best Announcers (26 page)

"How come our whole didn't match the parts?" Perhaps Geronimo was
not a fan.

In 1965, the Space City hatched a space-age home: baseball's first airconditioned, domed all-purpose stadium. It had sky boxes, five tiers, and 5,000
roof plastic windows and steel grate guides a foot and half apart. "When a fly
hit that jigsaw background," said Gene, "the light and dark made it impossible
to judge." Hofheinz put blue translucent acrylic on the roof, greasing vision.
Sunshine was cut, though, killing turf. By 1982, 11 of 26 bigs parks brooked
artificial a.k.a. Astroturf. Suddenly, watching grass grow had a new appeal.

The Astrodome opened April 9, 1965, with a Yankees exhibition. "Look
at all the players out of the dugout up on the rim," gawked Elston. "Just a
magnificent sight."The scoreboard flashed, canon boomed, and cartoon cowboys rode upon a homer. In 1968, one in town for a film turned three sheets
to the wind. Houston won, 1-0, in the 24th inning. "Longest complete night
game and John Wayne didn't see it," said Gene, working near the Astrodome
Club bar. "In the 2 3rd, they carry him out."

Thirty-five radio and 15 TV outlets, respectively, carried Elston from the
Panhandle and Gulf to Biloxi and Baton Rouge. Partner Loel Passe coined
"Hot ziggety (log and good of sassafras tea," "He breezed him one more
time," and "Now you're chunkin'." His briefcase was even tangier. "It had the
kitchen sink," said Gene. "In April someone put a hot dog there." Passe found
it that fall.

"Loel was the entertainment, but Gene the key," said Houston Post writer
Mickey Herskowitz. "Solid, trustworthy," giving skeletal plot and score, born
in a place where hyperbole was thought curse, not core.

"Coming from Iowa, I didn't know if my style would work," said Elston. TV's
Andy Taylor settled Barney Fife and Gomer and Goober Pyle. "That was
Gene," said Passe. "An island of sanity in a nutty place."

In 1977, pitcher J.R. Richard said that he saw a bird: "He was evidently
sent down by God and he told me to straighten up and win this game and
that's why I turned things around."

Elston: "What kind of pitches did you use to make the change?"

"Shit, I'll tell ya," Richard said on air.

Later Gene interviewed J.R. on TV. "If you had to throw a pitch in a tight
situation, what would you throw?"

"Well, I'd throw him a slider," he said, putting a hand on his groin. "I'd
put it right in there, cock-high."

Houston got high much of 1980: record 2,278,217, N.L. West playoff
victory, and 2-1 best-of-five game L.C.S. edge. Bad luck: The 'Stros took a
2-0 next-day lead before Gary Woods left third early on a fly. It cost a flag:
Phils, in 10. Houston led, trailed, tied, and lost Game Five in overtime.

"We'll climb the final step," chirped manager Bill Virdon. A quarter-century later, the Astros are still climbing.

Elston broadcast 11 no-nos. Nolan Ryan broke Sandy Koufax's record on
September 26, 1981. "Two balls and no strikes to Baker. And a ground hall
to third! Art Howe! He got it! Nolan Ryan! No-hitter Number 5!" Less
abiding: sidekicks, blown to and fro.

In 1985, Milo Hamilton arrived from Chicago. Next season, new team
head Dick Wagner fired the 'Stros original. "If they want somebody to phony up some excitement, I can't change my personality," said Gene, skedaddling
to CBS's "Game of the Week." Said analyst Larry Dierker: "As always, he was
low-key, with plenty of room to get excited and take it up an octave."

GENE ELSTON

His last play-by-play hymned 1997. Having braved a stroke, Elston left
broadcasting's cattle drive, still waiting for luck to change.

Elston's voice was flat, but strong. Jim Woods's turned whiskeyed, at the
mike or bar. Ray Scott's crossed John Huston and Bishop Fulton Sheen.
"When he intoned, slowly, profoundly, simply, `First down, Green Bay,'
wrote TV Guide, "10 million spines would quiver."

From 1956 to 1974, Scott embodied the National Football League. We
mimed his prose, watched his Packers, and never knew that another game
lured.

In 2002, 1 asked son Preston which sport dad preferred. "My father said
baseball, no contest."The choice said something about it, and him.

Born in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, Scott's flood of four Super Bowls and nine
NFL title games began with the Pittsburgh Pirates. "How dominant was baseball? The [now Steelers] team was named after theirs." Already the teenager
had a radio show-"great training," Ray said of 250-watt WJAC. "I
announced, did copy, sold ads"-and made $55 monthly.

One Friday football's Pirates crashed Johnstown for a game. That morning
owner Art Rooney signed Colorado's Byron (Whizzer) White. "Paid 'im
$15,000. The owners said his waste would ruin football!" Scott didn't care,
landing White on his show. "When you're young, priorities smack of me."

By 1947, Ray, now in Pittsburgh, aired each Steelers exhibition. "At
Comiskey Park, we were put in the broadcast booth behind home plate.
No respect." If lucky, he had a spotter, seat, and wire to the production
truck. Pro football was akin to wrestling-except that wrestling had a
niche.

In 1952, Scott had a brainchild-an NFL TV network, he crowed-except that "the three biggies wouldn't take it," leaving a tatter of the time. "The
DuMont network was small, so it could dream big," adding football to "Demolition Derby,""Colonel Humphrey Flack," and "Rocky King, Detective."

Each Saturday, Ray did play-by-play. "Primitive? [Ex-Yale coach] Hermann Hickman did color in studio. I was by myself." Not exactly: his audience
mugged CBS's "Jackie Gleason." How sweet it was, and away Scott went.

DuMont died in 1955. On January 1, 1956, a legend primed for ABC's Sugar
Bowl. At game time, Bill Stern reached the booth "doped up [cocaine]," said
backup Scott. "No way he could go on."

Ray replaced him, brilliantly. In September, joining CBS, he helped tie
Anaheim, Azusa, and Cucamonga-Jack Benny's famous litany-to Frank
Gifford, Jon Arnett, and Bobby Layne. "Until now," he said, "America did
everything Sunday except watchTV"-drive, see family, fill the beach. CBS
changed how we spend the Sabbath-same time and channel, pro football, live.

"It was a funny format," said Ray. "Each team had a Voice [Chris Schenkel
was the Giants; Chuck Thompson, Colts]." In Wisconsin, Hamm Brewing Co.
bought the Packers. Braves Voice Earl Gillespie seemed a natural-except
that Miller paid his salary. Hamm said, "Ray, if this works out, we'll give you
a bigger market."

Then, in 1959, Vince Lombardi became coach. Straightaway Fordham's
thirties "Seven Blocks of Granite" guard made granite steel. Personae
blurred: "Run to Daylight"; Green Bay as Titletown; Scott, its Voice. "CBS's
National Football League coverage didn't make a move to any big game
without him," read TV Guide.

About this time, Ray added another sport. The Upper Midwest thought
it a natural evolution.

Scott once aired NBC's "Major League Baseball" from Pittsburgh, where he
lived. Years later, Ray couldn't recall who won. "That was the extent of my
pre-1961 baseball." To Minnesota, it was enough.

Moving there, the ex-Nats asked Bob Wolff to remain. Partner Chuck
Thompson stayed in the Baltimore area. Buying rights, Hamm persuaded
Scott to move his wife and five children to Edina, a Minneapolis 'burb.

"Whether I do football again is questionable because of the overlapping
seasons," Ray mused. "But I wouldn't pull up stakes with my family if I
wasn't sold on baseball for the future." Son Preston nodded. "Dad did everything you can in football. The irony is that he was ready to give it all up for
baseball."

The object of his ardor debuted April 11, 1961: Twins 6, Yankees 0. Their
30,637-seat triple-deck cantilever opened ten days later. Metropolitan Stadium had no posts, cows beyond the outfield, and a Spartan look and feel. Farmers and
businessmen and women in curlers merged.

Baseball was a drop-dead craze. Doing it, could Ray dodge death? "His
football style was simple," said Wolff. "At first he didn't grasp how baseball,
especially radio, needs more." Scott adapted. "People cut him slack," mused
publicist Tom Mee, "so pleased to have this national celebrity as a local
announcer.

The 1955--60 Senators drew 2.7 million people. The '61ers wooed
almost 1.3. "Such a marvelous reception, like Milwaukee in the '50s," said
Ray. In 1962, Wolff left for NBC. Griffith felt no need to even name Scott
top dog.

"When the Senators left Washington," Scott recalled, "an expansion team
replaced them." The new Nats Voice had called Mutual's 1956-60 "Game."
Said John MacLean: "`Game' went everywhere. I just didn't expect it to
perish." His Senators perished almost each day.

"Five years before," wrote Morris Siegel, "they'd have been great."
Instead, hand-me-downs helped the '61 ers tie for ninth in a new ten-team
league. "In a case like this," mused MacLean, "you empty your bag of tricks."
They included lauding the loyal oppositon.

"I found myself promoting Mantle, Maris, Kaline," he laughed. Partner
Dan Daniels sympathized, arriving from Orlando, Jacksonville, and Birmingham. "D. C. was a tightrope. Government workers from elsewhere
cheered for the enemy. On the other hand, most people pulled for the home
team": 460-668 from 1962 to 1968.

In 1969, Robert Short became Senators president. One brainstorm was
naming Ted Williams manager. Another: new Voices to hype what little there
was to sell.

"We need something fresh," said Short, (lumping MacLean and Daniels.
Soon Shelby Whitfield drew "a beautiful day in Washington. Come out and
see your Senators," as rain soaked the field. By 1971, the FCC made stations
identify paid employees of a team.

That fall the Nats again decamped. "I'd listened to MacLean on `Game," "
said Red Sox announcer Ned Martin, "and hired him in '72. But he had a
stroke," was hospitalized, and died in August.

For the next 32 years, baseball in Washington did, too. "Next time you
go to buy a club," John reflected, "made sure you have either a ballpark or a
team." In Minnesota, Scott was lucky to have both.

By 1965, New York had won 14 titles since 1949. On July 11, the Twins
trailed, 5-4. "TheYanks were aging," Ray mused. "We're in first, and had won
two of a three-game series." Harmon Killebrew faced the Stripes' Pete
Mikkelsen: ninth inning, one out and on. "Oh my, and imagine the season's
only half over. One after another of games that go right down to the wire."
Scott paused. "A drive deep to left! Way back! It's a home run! The Twins
win!"The dynasty was dead; my radio seemed to quiver.

September 26 knotted new team/old town. "The Twins have won 98
games," Ray said in D.C. "Number 99 means the pennant. Here's the
windup-and the pitch! Strike three! He struck him out! The Twins win! ...
Final score: the Twins 2, the Senators 1. The Twins have won the American
League pennant!" Mudcat Grant went 21-7. Tony Oliva hit .321. Zoilo Ver-
salles became MVP.

Scott and Vin Scully called the first Series of transplanted teams. Minnesota took a 2-0 game lead. L.A. then won three at home. Grant evened the
Classic, 5-1. Game Seven turned on third baseman Jim Gilliam's thirdinning two-on heist. "He doesn't rob Versalles, we score twice, Zoilo has a
triple, and Sandy [Koufax, winning, 2-01 leaves."

Instead, Ray left for CBS's Ice Bowl, Super Bowls I-II, I V , and VI, Masters, and PGA. "With my network stuff, I really don't have time for baseball," he said. "I do it [ 1970s Senators, Twins, and Brewers TV] because it
keeps me in the game." Keeping him in trouble was a composte of honor,
rage, and pride.

In 1974, CBS fired its NFL Caruso. "I chose to speak out against the
growing tendency to focus on the announcer, not event," Scott explained.
Howard Cosell was "a mean and nasty man." Voices had become "vaudeville." Ex-athletes "have no talent whatever." ABC's "Monday Night Football"
was "a sham."

The sham was Scott, being snubbed.

"The networks won't hire me," he said by 1988, reduced to cable TV
golf, college football, and Pirates-"coming back, I guess you'd call it," to his
early home and sport.

He entered the hospital for a triple bypass, then kidney transplant, knee
surgery and hip surgery, and prostate cancer.

"I've got more artificial hips than baseball players on a team," he said in
1998, dying that March, at 78. Heaven is thought angelic. Proof reads: "Starr.
Dowler. Touchdown. Green Bay."

RAY SCOTT